A Carefree Young Man
by Skeexikx
Summary: Tintin is attacked and assaulted. Is he be able to recover without losing sight of who he is? And will he find the security he desperately needs? RAPE. Non/con, hurt/comfort, angst. TintinxHaddock.
1. Assault and Battery

You always hurt the one you love, da de da dum, de da…

Why? Why do we do it? Don't answer; there's an entire industry devoted to this very topic.

WARNING – starts off strong, so be aware. It ain't nice...

I had written several endings to this story - from all out murderous rampage to all out debilitating depression, but then little ideas and entire conversations would take root and I'd revisit and rewrite. Cripes – go into the light, there's peace in the light…

Anyway, hope this finds a home somewhere in your hearts and minds, faithful readers.

Don't own Tintin & Company – Moulinsart does, ain't making any moula, a thousand pardons for any and all missssspellings (like that one), comma's that stray and any apostrophes that get out of line, sneaky little bits that they are…

And yes, this is the story that kept getting shoved aside for others. Poor thing finally gets to see the light of day!

… Assault and Battery

Tintin had noticed the two men as he searched the warehouse for clues, but had gotten so wrapped up in his investigation that he hadn't paid them much mind. They were just a couple of anonymous dockworkers, big and burly and he doubted they had even perceived him as they were completely caught up in their work.

Until he heard a door slam behind him.

Spinning around, he found the two men standing between him and the only exit. One held a large stick of wood, the other a length of rope.

Taking a breath, he knew he was in for a fight. But it didn't hurt trying to talk his way out, first. Who knows, it might help. Though he doubted it as for some reason he was destined to be knocked about and tied up.

He glanced about for his faithful companion and realized that Snowy wasn't in the room. Okay – he was on his own. Well, he was stronger than he looked – these thugs didn't know what they were messing with.

"Is there something I can help you with?" He asked, his voice calm, his body posture alert and balanced, but not yet into a defensive or aggressive position. Perhaps they had him mistaken for someone else…

"You, pretty boy." One of them growled.

No such luck then. Raising his fists and dropping into a crouch, Tintin waited as the two men advanced. When they got close enough to be within range of grabbing him, he moved. Fast. Kicking the one with the stick in the stomach and hearing the man's breath whoosh out of him, he rapidly dodged the other's attempt to snare him with the rope.

Bringing his fist up, he felt it connect with the second man's jaw, sending the thug crashing backward. Turning, Tintin leapt for the door and thus escape. As his hand grasped the doorknob, other hands grasped him. He had no time to turn when something struck him across the back of the head.

Pain exploded and stars whirled about him, but he somehow managed to stay conscious.

Tintin's legs gave out and he collapsed in a heap. He could only struggle weakly as he felt himself pulled around and forced onto his knees. The sensation of his arms being yanked behind him and then rope being wrapped around wrists and ankles was too familiar.

Shaking his head to clear it, he wondered what these brutes wanted with him. As far as he knew they had nothing to do with the current mystery he was trying to solve. The only reason he was down here was due to an obscure mention in the newspaper about a mysterious light seen shining on the docks nearby. Curious, he had been trying to find the reason when he'd entered the warehouse.

Finally through with trussing him up, they flipped him to a seated position. Tintin thought the knots they had used rather excessive and a bit…odd. They had tied his wrists, but then had run the rope to his ankles. Any time he tried to straighten his legs, his arms would be stretched painfully and vice versa.

Blinking he stared at them, coolly waiting to see what their next action was.

The second man, identified by the bruise that was beginning to show on his jaw, leaned close. "Shouldn't have done that, little boy. Only wanted to play with you. Now, guess we'll have to be a bit rougher." He snarled, odious breath making Tintin's eyes water.

The other man giggled. "Maybe he'll like it that way."

"Doesn't matter if he does or not, we're going to like it." Responded 'bruiser'.

There was something in the glitter of the two men's eyes that had Tintin's hackles up, chills racing up and down his spine. Their leering faces didn't help either, nor the way they kept licking their lips. Swallowing down his unease, he once more asked. "What do you want?"

"To fuck you, pretty boy. Fuck you hard."

Tintin stared at the two men who grinned back at him, completely nonplussed. Had he heard right? And yet…no-one had ever looked at him as these two men were, full of evil lust, lust that consumed them and was soon to consume him.

Even though he was tied up, he still tried to fight, to escape, to somehow get away from the horrific fate that awaited him. He begged them for mercy, pleaded with them not to do such an awful thing, even intimated that he'd go along with it if they untied him - hoping they would and he'd have fighting chance.

They only grinned wider, laughing at his distress. Grabbing him once more, they flipped him over again so he was back on his knees. Groping hands tugged at his trousers, fumbled at button and zipper. He felt his four-squares pulled down to his shins, further hampering his mobility.

He gasped as his underwear was not only pulled down, but ripped away.

Tintin couldn't believe this was happening. He began to shout for help, for aid, for someone, anyone to come and rescue him. But the room was deep within the warehouse, and the only occupants he'd seen were inside with him. He couldn't even make out any barking from Snowy, letting him know the dog was aware of the danger and would soon bring back help.

"Heee, heee, heee!" the 'giggler' giggled. "Go on sonny boy, scream all you want. Ain't nobody gonna hear you, 'cept us. And we want to hear you scream, hee, hee."

"Yeah, you're gonna scream all right." The 'bruiser' added. "Scream your pretty little lungs out. Might have just made you go down on us, cop a feel or two of that ripe little rump of your'n, fondled your itsy bitsy little boy cock. But now, seeing as you didn't want to play nice, you're gonna bend over and take it like a man."

The giggler laughed even harder.

Tintin closed his eyes and began to pray. All during their talk, the men had been doing precisely what they had been talking about, squeezing and fondling his buttocks, grasping and pulling none too gently on his manhood.

Chills kept sweeping through him and his body trembled so hard his knees were stuttering against the hard concrete floor. His jaw was clenched so tight to keep his teeth from chattering that a splitting headache was beginning to develop across his forehead.

He heard the sound of spitting and jumped as something wet touched him in a place he'd never had anything contact him before.

Tintin cried out with anguish, horror and disbelief as something hard thrust inside of him. He could feel whatever it was moving inside him and writhed in an attempt to get away from the awful sensation.

"Oh boy, just think what he's gonna be like with our pricks in him, if he moves like that with just a finger up his ass." Exclaimed Giggler, chuckling with glee.

The other man said nothing, just continued to root around in Tintin's anal cavity. Finally he pulled himself out, and Tintin began to sigh with relief only to cry out again as once more the man invaded him. Only this time it was worse, as the man was penetrating him with two fingers, stretching Tintin even further.

Tintin kept his eyes and jaws clenched. He wished he could bite his knuckles, anything to stay silent. He didn't want to make any more sounds, give them any indication how terrified he was or how painful their actions were. He couldn't do anything about the tears that were beginning to gather behind his lids.

"Here now, you've had him enough, my turn!" The other man asserted, pulling the 'bruiser's' arm away. Tintin didn't bother to sigh at the sweet release, knowing it was but a short respite.

Chortling with sick humor, the 'giggler' spent several moments sticking his fingers one at a time inside Tintin, then two fingers and finally three. "Ohhhh, he's a tight one ain't he?"

Somehow managing to keep from making a sound during the ordeal even though his abused flesh burned from the repeated penetrations, Tintin cried out sharply as he felt his tuft grabbed securely and pulled, his head yanking backward. "You're a virgin, ain't ya pretty boy? Hee, hee, heee! Well, not for long. Our cocks are mighty hungry for a hot, tight fuck."

"Please, oh please. Don't do this to me. Why? Why do you want to hurt me?" he asked plaintively.

"Cause, that's why. Cause we can. What ya gonna do it about it, ya little girly-boy?" Bruiser remarked.

The fingers that had been fisted into his hair relaxed and made their way over his face, the touch soft, disgustingly caressing. "Cause you're pretty, pretty boy, hee, hee. Saw that right away when you was walking around. Pretty red hair, pretty face like a girl's, pretty little ass, hee, hee, ripe and round. So we pretty much decided to have some fun with ya." Giggler snorted, amused at his little pun.

"I…have some money, I can give it to you…" He offered desperately.

Tintin saw stars again as a heavy hand smacked him on the back of his head. "Shut up, cunt. Don't want yer money, want yer ass." Bruiser hissed in his ear and then barked at his partner, "Move over, I've waited long enough, cock's drippin' as it is."

Tintin couldn't help the moan of despair as the 'bruiser' shoved the other man out of the way. He tightened reflexively as rough hands grasped his hips, pulling his buttocks up higher.

He screamed as he was pierced by a very thick 'something' that shoved hard and deep inside him, ripping into his tender flesh. He was well aware of what it was, but somehow not identifying it made it seem less…real.

But the pain was real. Tearing, sharp, burning pain that blazed from his entrance and raced deep inside him. A pounding force that shoved in and out of him, causing his knees to scrape back and forth across the floor. Grunts and groans that battered his ears, sounds that were both zealous and triumphant.

He was vaguely aware of someone cheering, laughing hysterically.

Tintin no longer remembered wanting to keep silent. It hurt too much. Not just the physical violation, but the psychological as well. His mind reeled from the dreadful knowledge that he was being sexually assaulted. And there was nothing he could do about it.

He'd been tied up before, placed in helpless situations. There had been many a time when he'd thought his luck had run out.

But he'd never been violated before, made to feel so humiliated, so vulnerable…so hopeless.

His mind swirled and he struggled to retain consciousness. As awful as all this was, he did not want to be completely at their mercy.

And so he screamed and shrieked and cried out until his throat was raw. He wanted to buck and writhe, but held himself still, instinctively knowing that not only would moving hurt him more, but that it would entice his attacker.

Tears were running down his face, his nose leaking moisture as well. He didn't care. A small voice in the back of his head said that maybe if he looked less attractive, they'd leave him alone.

The pain and the movement were blurring into one big overwhelming ball of agony when with one last, brutal shove, 'bruiser' stilled his movements. He could hear the man crying out joyously.

Except for one last stab of pain as the man pulled out, it was over. The pain was still there, but no longer white hot. Tintin tried to collapse, but the 'bruiser' still had his hips painfully gripped.

Taking a shaky breath, Tintin tried to control his sobs, shift his weight off his knees, scraped raw. His hands were fisted together, fingernails sunk deep enough to bring up half-moons of blood.

"Awww, pretty little baby boy's sad. Must not have been to his liking, hee, hee. Maybe he'll find my cock more to his pleasure, heeee hee hee heee."

Tintin tried to shout no, but it only came out as a whisper. He'd known that the 'giggler' would be taking his turn, but had futilely hoped that perhaps…

"Have at him, I've opened him up and got him all nice and wet for you. Should just slide right in." Bruiser remarked. Tintin caught the sound of a zipper and the rustle of clothing. He braced himself for the onslaught.

He could get through this. He would get through this. They had made no mention of killing him; maybe they'd just have their way with him and then leave. He'd promise not to tell, beg them to please let him go.

Breath catching in his throat as he felt pressure on his extremely sore and inflamed anus, Tintin gave out a long groan as the 'giggler' slowly entered him. Giggling the entire time, of course.

"See, this is how ya do it, not wham, bam, thanks, my man, but nice and easy, hee, hee, hee. Take your time, savor the tight little ass. And boy oh boy, hee, hee, is he ever a tight one."

Oddly, Tintin would have preferred it the other way; gotten it done and over with instead of having to endure this slow torture.

The pain was beginning to build back up to the former white-hot stage, but instead of screaming, Tintin only made small, low noises, more whimpers than anything else. He just wanted this to end, but the man was taking his time. Over and over the 'giggler' pulled out and re-entered him, keeping up a running patter about how tight Tintin's ass was, how wonderful it felt around the man's cock, how he'd never had such a good fuck before. All interspersed with that hateful giggle.

Slow tears made their way down Tintin's face, dripping onto the cold concrete floor. His legs shook and he trembled and shivered. He grimaced as he felt the man's hands move gently across his flesh, curving under him and taking his shaft into one hand, scrotum in the other and begin fondling them.

"Not going to get hard for me sweetheart? Hee, hee. That's ok, I know I'm enjoying this."

He wasn't aware of the exact moment the man began to move more forcefully, only that his body was once more rocking back and forth. Moaning, he bit his lip. As the rhythm increased it wasn't long before he began to taste blood. It oddly centered him, knowing that all the pain he was experiencing wasn't caused by his hated attackers.

And he hated them. Wanted nothing more than to smash them, rip them to pieces, pull those disgusting cocks off and stuff them up their asses. Face screwing up into an expression of pure rage, Tintin seethed.

If he could get free for just one second…

He almost didn't notice the man stilling inside him, but did catch the man give out a long, sighing groan. And he was definitely aware of the 'giggler' exiting him. His ass was so painfully raw it didn't feel any less uncomfortable, but at least the man was out of him.

Keeping himself still as hands once more roamed over his body, fondling this and tweaking that, he waited to see what they would do next.

Tintin couldn't help but cry out as he was once more flipped over to sit on his extremely painful rump.

Noting that the 'bruiser' was standing over him, fully dressed allowed him a small bright spot of ease.

The 'giggler' however was crouched before him, holding his now flaccid shaft in his hand. Tintin did not like the look on the man's face.

Scooting forward, Giggler brought his cock up and began to rub the tip against Tintin's face. Swallowing repeatedly in an attempt not to heave, Tintin tried to turn his head away from this new degradation. Feeling a hand once more grab hold of his tuft, he reluctantly stilled.

"Lick it." Giggler ordered. "Open up that pretty mouth of yours and lick it."

Tintin's narrowed eyes locked onto the man's beady orbs and he was instantly rocked backward by a vicious backhanded swipe.

"Ya little prick! I seen what you was thinkin'!" the man exclaimed. Turning to his laughing partner, he continued, his voice whining. "He was gonna bite me, you seen that!"

"Fucker's still got some fight in him, maybe we weren't rough enough…"

Tintin stilled.

"Damn." Bruiser stated, suddenly looking at his watch. "We're missing lunch."

"Crap, wanted to have some more fun with pretty and tight here. Maybe we keep him here? Come back and play some more with him?"

Tintin could see out of the corner of his eye that the 'bruiser' was seriously contemplating the idea. Promising God the world, he prayed they would let him go.

"Sounds good. Boss ain't exactly checking up on us."

Tintin sagged. This wasn't over yet.

…


	2. A Safer And Saner Place

… A Safer and Saner Place

They had come back quicker than he had expected. Seeing him trying to squeeze his bloody wrists out of the tight bonds had earned him another slap across the face. He sniffed at the sudden wet warmth that trickled from his nose and down onto his lip and tasted the iron of blood.

Tensing as they reached for him and flung his immensely sore body back onto scraped knees he grimaced with dismay.

As they took him over and over again he once more screamed until his throat was raw, begged and pleaded and sobbed. But Bruiser had only smirked at him and Giggler had only giggled, of course.

This time though, they had brought a knife and took turns holding it against his throat, forcing him to lick and suck them. The two brutes had laughed uproariously. More than once he had gagged as hot, thick liquid spurted into his mouth.

"You throw up, you're gonna have your face rubbed in it, pretty fuck." Bruiser had sneered. "Throw up on me and I'll slit your god-damned neck."

There had been times when Tintin almost wished they would kill him, end the agony he was going through.

But somehow he managed to endure. This had to end, it just had to…

His entire world had become pain, pain and more pain. He was barely registering the movement of his body as it was turned this way or that, shoved back and forth, fingers prying at ass or mouth, cocks forced into him.

Only that hated giggle seeped into the darkening recesses of his brain.

Slowly he began to lose consciousness, his mind unable and unwilling to process the horrors that were being inflicted upon him.

And woke up alone, lying somewhere outside in the dark, a small white form licking his face.

"S…Snowy? Where…?"

He hurt. Hurt bad. Everything hurt so much that he had a hard time trying to sort out all the places that were crying out in agony.

Glancing around he had no idea where he was. Someplace dark and close. And stinking. Trying not to take too deep of a breath he sat up.

And gasped in shock as pain lanced through him, starting at his rump and shooting upward.

He quickly flipped over onto his knees and gasped again.

Shaking as chills ran through him, he tried not to moan as memories slammed into him, as forceful as the assault he'd recently experienced. Warehouse…room…two men…tied up…forced onto his knees…clothes torn down, torn off…hands touching…him…pain…

They must have tossed him outside by the garbage bins after they were done with him, just left him here as if he was nothing but trash.

Lying on his side, hugging his knees to his chest, he rocked back and forth as he tried not to cry. Slowly he managed to gain control of himself. Not yet. Get home, get safe first. Get Snowy home. Then…

Then he'd deal with the trauma. Somehow, someway, he would find his way to a saner place.

But first, he'd have to find a way to a safer place.

Tearing his mind away from a direction he didn't want to go in just yet, he levered himself up, arranged his clothing that was half on and half off, and then squeezed out from behind the garbage bin and began to make his way down the alley.

He was thirsty, hungry, battered and shaking uncontrollably. Watching enviously as Snowy had taken a few laps from a puddle he had almost done the same.

At least he had a plan. Going back to Marlinspike Hall was no longer an option. Not only because it was too far away, but there was no way he could arrive there in this condition. But there was another place he could go – his apartment on Labrador Road. It would take a few hours to get there, but he'd do it.

It was hard, so very hard to both dredge up the strength to keep moving and maintain the mental acuity to make sure that not only did he know which way to go, but also keep a look out for anyone who might notice him.

He didn't want to be seen by anyone.

Part of it was that if another thug found him there was no way he could defend himself.

And another part of him knew that if he was found by a helpful person or if he approached an authority figure and asked for assistance then his life would become a living hell. He certainly couldn't escape notice looking as he did - limping, eye swollen shut from being smacked, a lip that was bitten, bloody nose, wrists that were torn and bleeding and trousers just as bloody at the knees. He had no idea he had dark circles under his eyes and every freckle stood out in sharp contrast from his very pale complexion. Even his quiff wasn't quite as upstanding as usual, listing a bit to one side.

He could just imagine the uproar once word got out the he – Tintin, world renowned boy reporter – had been sexually assaulted. The world went in an uproar as it was when he was assaulted in the usual way: knocked out, tied up and stood in front of a firing squad or locked in squalid cell.

He couldn't face all the fuss and bother and the questions and the pitying looks and the 'oh, the poor, poor boy' comments. He didn't want or need to be the center of any commotion, be the lost little waif. He got that enough as it was.

No - he didn't want anyone to know about this. No one.

And definitely not his special friend – the Captain. Tintin felt his chest constrict. This horror would hurt and haunt the man. He knew how special he was to the older seaman and had been since they'd met so precipitously when he'd fell through a porthole and from there into the man's life. They had been constant companions ever since. They looked out after each other, went to the ends of the earth (and beyond) for each other, saved each other's life time after time.

The Captain would be mortified. And Tintin knew the man would take his rage and sorrow out in two ways – either by going on a rampage and then drinking himself into a stupor, or drinking himself into a stupor and then going on a rampage.

There was a small part of him that wanted the Captain to know, to have the man share his rage and to plot revenge together and carry it out.

And to crawl into the man's arms and be soothed, embraced and protected, held close and tight and know for sure that all the bogeymen were kept at bay.

But he was Tintin. He was self sufficient, adept and competent, calm in the face of danger, able to be knocked down and get right back up again.

Even though his mind was reeling, his body ravaged and his very soul wanted nothing more than to crawl away and hide while sobbing hysterically.

Still, he persevered. Keeping to the shadows, ducking down or hiding behind parked cars whenever he happened to see or hear someone nearby, waiting till they moved far enough away not to see or recognize him. From time to time he'd rest against a wall, or fold himself down onto steps, making sure he was off any painful areas. And then he'd force himself up again, marking off block after block in his journey home.

Every so often he'd catch a whiff of someone's dinner cooking and it was all he could do not to follow the enticing odor to its source and proceed to devour it. Once he saw an older man wheeling a sausage cart and almost gave in, approach the vendor, give the man some kind of story that explained his appearance and then buy out the entire stock. Shaking his head he only stood there and watched the man and his cart recede.

He had no idea how long he'd been traveling, only that he was. No longer counting his progress by blocks, he was now counting streetlamps, making each one his new goal. The streets were practically deserted, as this area of town was more residential and the occupants inside for the night.

As he approached a corner, he stopped just out of reach of the streetlamp's aura and peered ahead. There was a strange emptiness to the area on the other side of the street. Brow furrowed, he tried to puzzle it out when he noticed something large and round off to one side.

It was a Ferris wheel. Realization dawned on him. It was the park! He was very close to home.

Buoyed up by the wondrous knowledge that he would soon be safe and sound, he glanced down at his little friend who had stayed so close that there had been times when Tintin had almost tripped over him. "Soon, Snowy, very soon we'll be home and we can get something to eat and drink and wrap ourselves up nice and warm and just relax. Just relax and be safe."

Sighing with anticipation, he once more began to move, a little faster than before. Now that the objective was so close at hand, he wanted nothing more than to just get there. He began to count off the doors, recognizing familiar ones – the bakery, the travel agent, the brown door and finally…a very welcome green door.

Digging into his pocket his trembling hand fumbled for a bit and then brought out the keys. It took a moment to not only find the right key, but also insert it into the lock. Heaving a sigh of extreme relief, he opened the door. Only to groan with despair as it stopped short from the chain.

Of course. Everyone who was supposed to be in, was in. Closing his eyes for a moment Tintin debated about climbing up to one of his windows and breaking in. But he really did not have the strength for it. He was swaying with exhaustion as it was.

No hope for it. Taking a deep breath, he rang the bell.

…


	3. Haven

…Haven

Tintin heard the lower apartment door open and then the sound of footsteps. He knew those footsteps.

"Mrs. Finch? It's me, Tintin. I know it's late and I probably should have called, but I decided to stop by at the last minute. Could you let me in, please?"

"Tintin!? Of course, of course, just a moment."

The door swung closed and he heard a chink of metal. A second later and the door swung wide, a familiar figure standing just inside.

Moving quickly, Tintin dashed by the landlady and began to run up the stairs. "Sorry Mrs. Finch, but I'm on a case and need to get into my apartment, I'm sure you understand…"

Reaching the first landing he once more fumbled with his keys. He heard the woman mutter something about having a nice cup of cocoa, but by then he'd managed to open his door and dash inside.

It was all he could do not to slam the door shut. He immediately locked it. Turning, he surveyed his small kitchen. Still operating on adrenaline, he strode over to the sink and turned on the water, waiting for it to clear after being unused for so long. Reaching into the cupboard, he pulled out a dish and a glass and filled first the one and set it on the floor. Snowy lapped it up most gratefully.

He drank glass after glass of the cool, refreshing, wondrous liquid. Finally reaching saturation, but still not full, he pondered his options. There was nothing fresh in the refrigerator, he knew that. Opening another cupboard he found a can of vegetable beef soup and grabbed it. Sliding open a drawer he rooted around until his hand found the opener. In moments he had the lid off and was tilting the contents into his mouth, drinking the savory broth and swallowing the small pieces whole. Never had anything tasted so good.

Digging once more into the drawer, he found a spoon and began to scoop out the remaining contents, actually chewing them. Hearing a small whine, he abruptly glanced down.

"OH! Snowy, I am so sorry. Here." He emptied the rest of the can into the now empty bowl and reached into the cupboard and selected another tin. Canned chicken. Perfect. He opened it up, splitting the contents between them.

Finally sated, if not exactly stuffed, Tintin braced himself against the counter. Suddenly turning he grasped the stool that sat nearby and stuffed it under the doorknob. Then he proceeded to check the window next to him to make sure it was locked and pulled the curtains together.

He stumbled into his study and did the same, and from there to the two front windows also checking the locks and drawing the curtains tightly closed.

Making his way into his bedroom, he gave a glance at his bed and then stood at the window, making sure he was just out of sight and stared down at the deserted street for quite some time. Finally satisfied that there was no one lurking nearby, he also checked the lock not just once, but twice and then pulled the curtains, shutting out all light.

And then he crossed over to his bed and lay down fully upon it, not even bothering to take off his shoes. Blackness rose up and he embraced it eagerly, following it down deep.

_He was crying, and he walked down hallway after hallway searching for something he could not find. But every room was empty; even though he was sure what he was looking for was close by. Hearing a noise behind him, he stiffened. Somebody else was here! He was running, running faster through room after room trying to get away from the shadow that chased after him. Closer and closer it came, and he could hear it giggling. Tintin opened his mouth to scream…_

And jerked awake - his mouth open, chest heaving and his heart was pounding rapidly. He could feel his face was tear-streaked.

Shifting a little he felt something small pressing against him and found Snowy lying beside him, the dog regarding him with a look of obvious concern.

Tintin took a deep breath and swallowed hard. He remembered, oh yes, he remembered. Taking stock of himself, he found that the pain in knees and wrists, bruised eye and bitten lip were manageable. The pain in the other place had also eased a bit.

However, he stank. Badly. In fact, he was quite filthy, his clothes streaked with dirt and grime. He couldn't stand himself. He was unclean…soiled. Sullied.

Giving his furry friend a reassuring pat, he scooted over to the edge of the bed and stood up, making his way into the bathroom.

Once inside he began to strip, pulling off his clothes one by one, discarding them onto the floor. As his hands began to unbutton his four-squares he hesitated and made the mistake of looking up and catching sight of his reflection.

He stared at the stranger that gazed back at him. Ginger hair, yes – but stuck up in all directions and the trademark tuft was bedraggled. One half of his face was discolored from a large bruise. The rest of his face was bone white. One eye was just a slit, swollen and red. And the other eye…

Tintin glanced away. He didn't like what he saw in that other eye. Too much, too strong - all those emotions that swirled within that storm-grey orb. He wasn't ready to face them just yet, wanted – needed them to lie hidden just a little longer.

Bracing himself, he undid his trousers and slid them off, wincing as the fabric pulled against his aching flesh. He didn't look down, only pushed them aside with one foot.

He turned on the hot water tap in the bathtub as far as it would go. Switching the flow from tub to shower head, he grabbed a washcloth and quickly stepped in, drawing the curtain and just stood under the steaming hot water, letting it pour over and down him.

It wasn't until he realized that his skin was burning did he turn on the cold water, regulating the temperature a bit.

He poured the shampoo directly on his hair and washed it thoroughly, fingernails scrubbing at his scalp, then did it again and again, until the strands squeaked.

Picking up the washcloth, he soaped it completely and began to wash his face, being careful around his sore eye and cheek. Then it was down arms, once again being careful around the painful rope burns and torn flesh. Chest, sides and back were next and then on to his legs. Knees were gently tended to.

Rinsing out the cloth, he applied more soap. And stood there. It had to be done. He knew that. He could feel himself trembling again with chills, even though the water still ran hot.

Frowning with determination, he began to wash his genitals. And tried not to think of other hands touching them, but it was hard not to. His breath began to catch, his chest heaving. More than once his fingers almost dropped the cloth and his legs wanted to buckle. But he managed to cleanse his most intimate parts. Finishing, he once more rinsed out the cloth and again rubbed the soap against its surface.

He started to bite his lip but felt the instant pain and hissed. Clenching his jaw instead, he reached behind himself. Washing first one buttock and then the other, he skirted closer and closer to the gap between them.

Suddenly stopping, he gazed up at the ceiling. Enough. Just do this, get it over with.

Turning, he raised one leg and applied the warm, sudsy cloth to his backside, sliding it into the area he'd been avoiding. It hurt. It hurt very much. But he softly, tenderly cleaned the area.

Bringing the cloth around to rinse it, he gaped. It was streaked with red. Staggering back, he stared at it, abruptly overcome. He knew he'd been hurt. He had felt the insidious trickle of something warm and sticky wetting the seat of his pants as he had travelled the streets. He had stubbornly ignored it even though he knew what it was.

But now there it was - proof positive. Cramming his fist into his mouth to keep his cries from carrying beyond the room, he began to rock, tears rolling down his face.

The next thing he knew he was huddled on the floor of the tub, shaking and sobbing uncontrollably. He was vaguely aware of Snowy barking and whining, and then felt the dog jump in with him. But he couldn't move, could only crouch there, his mind reeling once more.

It wasn't until he realized that he was shaking from the now cold water that he raised his head up. Snowy was hunkered down in front of him, brown eyes full of worry, ears back and tail down, fur completely soaked. And the dog hated baths.

Trembling, he reached out and petted his little friend, soothing the small animal. Snowy may not know why his master was such a wreck, but he was there to give whatever support there was in that small, furry body.

Picking up the dog, Tintin hugged him close. "It's alright Snowy. I know, I know. I'm a mess, and I know it. But I'll be alright, just bear with me. Ok?" Yapping encouragingly, Snowy wriggled in response.

Tintin stretched a bit and stood up. Turning he set Snowy down outside the tub, watching as the dog shook himself, spraying water everywhere. Then he turned and took up the washcloth again, intent on finishing the job he'd started. Even though the water had turned cold, it was oddly comforting, taking the sting out of the abused flesh.

Each time he brought the cloth forward to rinse out there was less and less blood. Finally satisfied that he had cleaned himself up completely, Tintin turned off the water and stepped out. Grabbing a towel, he dried off. Glancing at the pile of clothes, he decided to just leave them where they were for the time being and turned toward the sink and turned on the water.

He brushed every tooth, and scraped his tongue as well. Reaching into the cabinet, he used several q-tips to clean his ears. Combing his hair, he was pleased to note that his quiff had returned to its usual cheerful aspect. That was the only portion of his features he looked at, carefully avoiding his own eye.

Feeling his spirits rise now that he was clean, he slipped into his robe and then walked into the main room. He was hungry again, and was sure Snowy felt the same way.

Opening up another can of soup, he actually poured it into a pan and heated it up. Putting the kettle on as well, he prepared tea. The soup hot, he spooned the contents into one bowl for Snowy, setting it on the floor, and then into another for himself. Kettle whistling, he poured the boiling liquid into the teapot, added the tea and then placed the pot, a cup, sugar bowl, soup and spoon to a tray. Rummaging around in the cupboard, he found some slightly stale crackers and added them to the tray.

Taking the tray to his table, he settled himself down carefully, folding a leg under him so as to keep his weight off his rump.

Sighing with contentment as he went around somewhat normally, he couldn't help the small voice at the back of his mind.

What was he going to do about his attackers?

…


	4. Exploring the Options

…Exploring the Possibilities

Tintin knew he would have to do something. There was no way he could let those brutes get away with what they had done.

And if they could do it to him, they could do it to others. Perhaps they had already assaulted before. He owed it to himself and anyone else those monsters had hurt to stop them from hurting anyone, ever again.

Not to mention pay them back. Cause them pain and humiliation, see their eyes widen with fear, their hated mouths beg for mercy. Stop that damn giggle that still haunted him.

He could feel his eyes narrow and a small smile spread across his lips as he imagined tying them up, using his own knife upon them, cutting flesh and watching as red blood ran down, hear screams of horror and agony as…

NO! He was Tintin.

Was he really willing to go down that dark path? Wouldn't that make him just as bad, if not worse than they were?

But they deserved to be punished.

Sighing, he finished the last of the now cooled soup. Gathering up everything he returned to his small kitchen, where he cleaned the dishes. Wiping them dry and putting them away, he turned and surveyed the room, searching for inspiration.

His eyes lit upon the phone and he gasped.

Striding over to it and dialing a familiar number he waited for the other end to pick up.

"Hello!" Came a gruff voice.

Wincing a bit, he took a deep breath. "Captain? It's Tintin. Sorry I…"

"Where in blue blistering' barnacles you been boy!? Worried sick I've been, and about to call in the guards!"

He could hear the deep concern in the other man's voice and scrunched up his face. "Yes, I know Captain, and I am very sorry. I got…well, distracted and lost track of time."

"A thousand thunderin' typhoons, laddie! Was envisioning you tied up and knocked out again. You are alright, aren't you?"

Tintin winced again. He didn't want to lie, really he didn't, but there was no way he could let his oldest and dearest friend know the truth.

Chuckling with what he hoped was cheery nonchalance, he responded lightly. "Oh, no Captain. Nothing like that. I was checking for clues and had been to the library till very late. Decided to stay the night at my old apartment and slept in. I'm perfectly fine."

"Hmmmfff. Well, you sound ok. But try and ease an ol' man's heart and check in a bit sooner, ok lad? I know you're a good lad, and you can take care of yourself, but ya live under my roof and I get naturally concerned if you don't show up when I think you will."

Tintin swallowed against the lump in his throat. The sound of love and anxiety in the man's voice almost brought him to tears. He so wanted to just let everything out, know his friend was on his way and he'd soon be comforted by large arms, crushed against broad chest, smelling the so familiar scents of sea air, whiskey and tobacco.

Instead he cleared his throat and replied sincerely. "I know you do, mon cher. I hate to worry you, you know that right?" Hearing the confirming soft snort, he continued. "I probably won't be back for a few days, Captain. Nothing serious yet, just a puzzle that I need to sort out, find the solution to. I promise I won't get into any trouble."

"Very well my boy. You know where to find me if you need any assistance."

"Yes, of course. Au revoir, Captain." Hanging up he closed his eyes and stood there for a long moment. Just about everything he'd just told the man had been an out and out lie.

Already he was beginning to go down a dark path.

But hadn't he been dragged onto it without his consent? He hadn't asked for this. They had forced themselves upon him, had caused him fear and pain. They had given him bruises and welts, whose fists and ropes had bloodied nose and wrists, whose animal lusts had torn his flesh until it was burning raw and bleeding. They were the ones that caused him to feel degraded and humiliated and helpless. They had instilled within him fiery emotions of revenge and justice.

He'd never been the blaming type, had been fairly un-judgmental toward his previous attackers. But he'd never been subjected to this…horror. He shuddered as he once more felt hands upon him, breath against his cheek, tongues licking his flesh. Forced against his will to do unspeakable acts, accept their bodies into his without consent.

Why shouldn't he hate them? Why shouldn't he seek out vengeance?

Whatever happened to them, they only had themselves to blame. They had made one mistake, they hadn't killed him. Maybe they thought he would be too frightened to say or do anything. But there had always been more to Tintin than met the eye.

So just what were his options?

The more Tintin thought about it, the more he knew he couldn't go to the authorities – dear God, no. He couldn't face that. His privacy was precious to him as it was; he would have to disappear if he ever wanted his life to be his own again. And then what would become of him? Would he be content to live in shadows for the rest of his life? Never be able to do the things he'd become accustomed to - go on adventures, be the boy reporter he'd always wanted to be and had struggled to become?

No. It was inconceivable.

Any more than it was inconceivable the amount of damage it would do to his friends and acquaintances. He closed his eyes and moaned. If just being gone overnight had the Captain so concerned, what dear lord would knowing that Tintin had been raped do to him?

The Captain was a tough man, he knew that. But the older man did have a weakness for drink that became overwhelming in times of stress. He'd managed to ease that need from the Captain, if more from the Captain's stronger need to keep in Tintin's high regard.

But would this send his friend over the edge? And how could Tintin live with that if it did?

He so wished he could tell his friend. He wanted somebody to confide in, to hold him and soothe him, listen to him sob and just rock him gently. He needed to know that everything was right with the world, that there was still people and places that were safe and secure.

Sighing, Tintin shook his head. Perhaps someday he would tell. He needed to forget some things first.

Perhaps he could write to the authorities, tell them about the two men. But would that work? Without an actual witness, it would just be hearsay. Maybe they'd be watched, even brought in for questioning. But there was no way to tell for sure.

And would it be enough to stop them? Tintin doubted it. If they wanted to hurt and abuse, they would.

And it would do nothing to ease his own need for justice. He wanted them to know it was their little captive that was handing out their punishment.

Shaking his head he disregarded the idea – who would take an unsigned and unsubstantiated accusation like that seriously? He didn't even know their names, and true, he could describe them accurately as their hated features were burned into his brain, but still – he knew it wouldn't be enough.

So he would have to find a way to deal with them. By himself. Just himself. And if it was wrong to do, so be it.

…


	5. Interlude

… Tintin's Fantasy

_Tintin looked over the deep blue sea and inhaled deeply of the salty aroma, hearing the cry of seagull underscored with the rumble of surf. He flexed his toes in the soft sand and sighed._

_Glancing to his left he smiled contentedly at the figure of his best friend, sprawled out on the deck chair, book folded on chest, snoring sonorously._

_Captain Haddock hadn't questioned Tintin's suggestion that they go on a bit of a vacation, but had happily accompanied him to the south of France, where Tintin had acquired a small beach house. The older man was quite pleased to go someplace that didn't include kidnappers, weapons, suspicious police or threats of imminent demise. _

_Tintin then glanced at the paper in his left hand; a newspaper he'd made sure was delivered to their door every day. He had explained that he had wanted to keep abreast of their hometown happenings, just in case anything interesting had occurred._

_Standing up, he made his way back to the house and removed one of the pages and crumpled it up, then buried it deep in the trash. He doubted the older man would find anything about the report of two men found hung in the rafters of an old warehouse interesting, but one never knew._

_And then he smiled. It wasn't a particularly nice smile and he quickly wiped if off his face. He fully acknowledged he would have to live with this decision for the rest of his life._

_But ever since he'd found the two men and led them to their doom, he no longer woke up with tears on his face, fear constricting his chest and the sound of giggling lurking inside his brain._

_Turning around, he ran outside, Snowy yapping at his heels and plunged into the cool ocean, just a carefree young man. _

_And he was going to do everything possible to remain that way._


	6. Course of Action

… Course of Action

Tintin had thought long and hard about this. First he would decide to go one way, then another and then even a third direction.

But there really had been only one right course to take. It would be hard. As hard to endure as the event had been which had set this into motion. And what he was about to do would be the hardest of all.

Taking a deep breath he mounted the concrete steps and knocked on the door. Though he was a part of the building's residents, he didn't exactly want to barge in.

As the door opened he braced himself. Tintin smiled lopsidedly at the look of surprised concern that flitted over the butler's face and then was carefully replaced with a neutral expression.

Even though it had been three days since he'd been attacked, he still looked like hell.

"Hello Nestor. Is the Captain in?"

"Yes, Mister Tintin, upper drawing room."

Stepping past the man, Tintin thanked him and proceeded to walk toward the main flight of stairs just ahead. He stopped and turned when he heard the obsequious butler clear his throat.

"May I get you anything, young sir? Glass of water, or perhaps an ice pack?"

Tintin smiled affectionately and thanked the man again, refusing his offer of aid. Turning he strode up the stairs and then down the hall to a doorway he could see a light shining out of. His pace slowed the nearer he got.

Knocking timidly upon the doorjamb, he heard the Captain mutter for whoever was there to enter.

Hesitating a moment longer as he screwed up his nerve, Tintin squared his shoulders and then entered the room. He felt his lips twitch as he perceived the oh so normal view that lay before him – the older man sitting in his favorite chair, a book in one hand and a drink in the other, smoke rising from a pipe jutting from one corner of his mouth.

Tintin cleared his throat. "Hello, Captain."

Haddock glanced up at him, "Oh, hello laddie, didn't know you'd gotten…" The man's voice halted as he took in Tintin's appearance.

Feeling his lips tremble even more, Tintin could feel his body also beginning to shake. He was still pale - he knew that. A yellow and purple bruise marked one cheek and dark circles were under his eyes, one eye still somewhat swollen and red. Hidden behind trousers and sweater cuffs were bandages on knees and wrists. And nothing showed of his worse injury – nothing physical anyway.

But he knew the worse aspect of him was the haunted look that had turned his normally clear and bright eyes dark grey.

As the Captain slowly stood up, Tintin felt a sob shake his frame. He really had wanted to be strong, assure the man that he would be all right. But seeing the concern and even fear that his friend was exhibiting was tearing into Tintin.

"Lad…what happened? Who did this to you? You told me you were okay, when did this…"

Tintin opened his mouth to speak and began to sob instead. Burying his head into his hands he began to sink down. Feeling hands grip his shoulders he was suddenly enveloped in strong arms and held close. He inhaled the overwhelmingly wonderful scents the older man always exuded.

"Ok, ok, you're ok lad, I'm here, you're safe, it's all right laddie, it's ok." Over and over Haddock soothed him, his large hands gently rubbing up and down Tintin's back.

If anything, Tintin began to sob harder. He tried to speak but his words were nothing but a jumbled mess. He felt himself being swept up and then carried over to the couch.

Burying his head into the Captain's chest and wrapping his arms tight around the man's shoulders, Tintin cried out his sorrow and anguish.

Slowly he brought himself under control, his sobs dying to soft hiccups. But his breath was sharp and every muscle was taut, his frame shaking uncontrollably. He turned his head and stared at the opposite wall and tried to find a way to start. But he knew there would be no easy way to do this.

"Oh Captain…Archie. I don't know how to say this. I…I was attacked. But you know that, you can see I'm hurt."

"Aye lad, and I'll tear apart the bashi-bazouk that did this to you." Haddock replied, his voice low and rough.

Tintin felt his chest rise and fall abruptly, but whether a chuckle or a sob or a combination of both, he wasn't sure. "Yes, I know you will. I might help you. But please…oh please Archie; just listen to me, ok? I know you're angry and worried, but please…just listen to me. I have to tell you things, things that are going to make you even more angry, but I…I need you to just listen to me, hold me, be there - all right?"

For a long moment he felt the older man sit there, tense and tight, his hands stilling. "Ok, my boy, I'm here. Take your time, I'm right here."

Sniffing, Tintin took a deep breath and held it, letting it out slowly. "I…I lied to you, Archie, when I called. I wasn't ok, but I couldn't…I had to…decide things. Please don't be mad at me, but I didn't want you to know, be more worried."

He felt the arms squeeze a little tighter. "I can never be angry at you lad."

His voice hesitating, Tintin continued. "This happened three days ago, the day before I called you. I was in a warehouse, searching for clues and there were these two men…and they, and they…they…"

It took a long time to tell his friend what had happened. More than once he felt the other man tense up, heard the appalled catch of breath, the fingers grip him just a bit harder. Tintin still didn't want to tell everything, not only because it would be horrific for his friend to hear, but also that meant he had to recall, relive the entire experience.

But the Captain never interrupted him, just held him close as Tintin haltingly told his story. Even when Tintin was overcome with emotion, body trembling and sobs returning as he relived a particularly awful moment, Haddock just held him tighter, softly rocking him a bit while rubbing a hand a little more tenderly up and down his back or gently flexing the fingers of the other hand that cupped Tintin's head. Every so often the older man gave out a soothing and comforting comment.

Tintin had fully expected the man to be tearing down walls by now, throwing furniture through windows and storming across town to find the two brutes and rip them to tiny pieces.

He was very pleased to find the Captain was more concerned with easing Tintin's pain and suffering than satisfying his own needs. Pleased and grateful. This is what he wanted. Somebody to lean against and be consoled by, know he wasn't alone, but loved and cared for.

Tintin began to cry again, but this time not from anguish.

Eventually he sat up a bit and reached behind him for his handkerchief. He had sat wrapped up in the Captain's arms for quite some time, overcome with emotion and soaking up the comfort that the other man gave him.

Wiping his streaming eyes and blowing his rather stuffed up nose, he raised his head up and managed a shaky smile.

The Captain's eyes regarded him for a long time, and though Tintin could see the rage that burned just beyond the surface, he could also see the extreme concern that tempered the hotter emotion.

"Lad, I will do anything you want me to do, be here for you, stand by your side. You know that, don't you?"

"Of course I do. You always have. Always will." Closing his eyes and putting his head back down, snuggling a little closer into that warm and soothing embrace, Tintin began to speak some more.

"I wanted…want to hurt them. I really do. But what would that make me? Just another monster. And though they deserve it, it still wouldn't make it right. No matter how satisfying it would be."

"And then I thought of doing nothing, just pretend it never happened. But that wouldn't have been right either. They'd have gotten away with it, perhaps gone on to hurt someone else, even kill them. I…couldn't live with that."

"So I made up my mind, and it's going to be hard, and I'll need all the support I can get, but I've decided to report this."

He heard an indrawn breath. "You sure about this lad? Might be better to just find those two sons of barnacles and see to it they disappear. I know of some acquaintances who owe me a favor or two who'd be happy to oblige…"

Tintin sat there silently for a while. It would be so much easier.

…


	7. Interlude 2

… Tintin's Fantasy #2

_Tintin looked over the deep blue sea and inhaled deeply of the salty aroma, hearing the cry of seagull underscored with the rumble of surf. He flexed his toes in the soft sand and sighed._

_Glancing to his left he smiled contentedly at the figure of his best friend, sprawled out on the deck chair, book folded on chest, snoring sonorously._

_They had decided that a nice vacation was in order, and had found a little place on a deserted beach on the southern coast of France._

_He glanced down at the newspaper he'd been reading, a newspaper they'd made sure to get delivered to their door. It didn't cover local happenings, but rather reported on the occurrences of their home town._

_Folding the newspaper to a certain page, he made sure to mark a certain article. He knew the Captain would be interested to read about two men found beaten and hung in an abandoned warehouse. If by some strange coincidence they were ever questioned about it, they could say with absolute certainty that they had nothing to do with it. After all, they were hundreds of miles away at the time._

_Standing up and stretching, he called to Snowy and ran down the beach and into the water, laughing as if just another carefree youth. And between him, his faithful companion and his dearest friend, that was exactly what he was._

…


	8. Decision

… Decision

Tintin heaved a large and deep sigh and then gave a soft laugh, again more of a sob. "No. No my friend. I can't allow you to do that, either."

Sitting back up he once more gazed into the older man's sorrowful eyes. "Captain, will you go with me tomorrow, down to the police station so I can make my statement?" He began to say more, but the Captain instantly interrupted him.

"Of course I will, I'll be with you every step of the way. Anything my boy, anything you need is yours. God, lad, you really didn't think I'd abandon ya now, do you?"

"Oh! No, no, no! I know you'll be there, right beside me. It's why I'm here, why I told you this, even though I knew it would hurt you." He stopped and sagged a little. "I hate hurting you Captain. I know I worry you when I go on my adventures, I know I'm at times a bit more careless than I should be." Raising his eyes up once more, he continued. "But it's because I know you're right with me that I can. I know you'll protect me, support me, be my rock."

"Ah, lad…" Tintin was pulled once more into a strong embrace, but not before he caught sight of the moisture that had filled the man's eyes.

Voice muffled against the thick blue sweater his face was pressed into, Tintin tried to let his friend know that they'd be in for a very trying time. Newspapers would be vying for this story once it was out. There would be some papers that out of professional courtesy would keep the sensationalism at a minimum, but there were other less discerning rags that would leap at the chance to shout out to the world at 24 or even 36 point letters how Tintin, amazing boy reporter, had not only been assaulted again, but in a new and gloriously horrific manner.

There'd be reporters and photographers camped outside the gates and probably sneaking over those gates. There's be phone calls ringing at all hours, letters arriving by the bagful, just as many telegrams and all sorts of people coming out of the woodwork to offer condolences, helping hands and multitudes of home-cooked goodies.

Each and every one of their friends and acquaintances would be underfoot the entire time. Though there were those that Tintin would relish having nearby, there were others that would be less than welcome, even if they meant well.

It was going to be a circus.

Talking till late in the morning, they planned out their strategy. They would go to the police station in the afternoon, give a statement and then head for the hills. Once the brutes were caught, they'd sneak back in with police assistance as they were sure the Thom(p)son's would be most eager to aid them, identify the two cretins and then head back into the hills.

Hopefully not being able to find either Tintin or the Captain would keep the publicity to somewhat of a manageable uproar. Nestor was quite adept at being the quintessential butler, saying little and showing even less.

Of course it would erupt all over again once a trial got under way, but by then perhaps it would be old news. And if it wasn't, then they'd deal with it. They had each other. They would weather any storm.

And once it was all over, the two attackers securely incarcerated, they would take a nice long vacation, perhaps to a beach somewhere...

Feeling fully relaxed for the first time in days, Tintin smiled at his dearest friend. It was going to be alright.

…


	9. Trials and Tribulations

… Trials and Tribulations

It had certainly been a circus. Tintin had been quite accurate about that. Just as he had been accurate at his prediction of the public regarding him as a poor unfortunate soul, devastated by the horrific actions of the brutes who had assaulted him so horrendously.

Though there were a couple of the seamier tabloids (one hesitated to call them newspapers, they were nowhere near that respectable) who had claimed that Tintin had gone looking for it and was now after the publicity. One printed quite proudly of receiving bomb threats.

And that was before the trial.

Tintin could still recall the hours spent sitting at the prosecution table, 'Bruiser' and 'Giggles' just feet away from him. He now knew their names, even that they had families. But he had no intention of regarding them as anything other than what they had become to him.

They had hoped that the two men would just plead guilty and that would have been that. But no. Couldn't be that lucky. So Tintin had to take the stand and tell his story, and then take the stand again during the defense's rebuttal, and then a third time for a redirect.

'B' and 'G' really would have been better off pleading guilty. Their defense attorney had tried going that route, but they had claimed they were innocent and had never touched the little lad.

Until Tintin described certain tattoos 'Bruiser' had and a certain birth mark that 'Giggler' sported. The jury had taken one look at Tintin and one look at them and had pretty much made up their minds from the very beginning and found the thugs guilty on all counts. He and his friends (and there had been many sitting behind him day after day, even those that had travelled across continents and/or oceans) had risen up and cheered, cried and cheered some more.

Tintin had to attend court one last time at the sentencing, and closed his eyes in blessed relief as the judge threw the metaphorical book at the cringing and chastised thugs. They'd be locked up for a long, long time.

He and the Captain, along with Snowy of course, had been staying in a small villa (donated by a friend) outside of a small village several miles away, shuttling back and forth as necessary. Once the trial had gone underway, they had been spirited to a hotel room for the duration, guarded day and night to prevent any intrusion from press or curiosity seekers.

Once everything was over and the last friend had been hugged goodbye, they had gone by private train (donated by yet another friend) to a far off harbor, boarded the fully provisioned 40-foot sailboat the Captain had rented and had bidden the world farewell, adieu, see ya later.

They had sailed for days, taking their time, going nowhere in particular. When they did have to dock for some reason or another, Captain Haddock would go ashore by himself, pick up a local newspaper in a language either he or Tintin could read and bring it back. If the front page, or even the first few pages had no mention of anything relating to a certain 'boy reporter', then Tintin would leave the boat and spend a few hours drinking in the wondrous sensation of being anonymous, knowing he was safe.

Until the preceding afternoon.

He'd been walking about a fairly typical marketplace, looking at the varied merchandise when he felt a hand cup and then squeeze his rump. He had instantly froze, his eyes wide. Turning slowly, he found himself staring into a leering, dreadful face whose eyes looked at him…

Like their eyes had.

Tintin found he couldn't move, could only stand there as the man asked him if he'd be interested in going somewhere…private.

Something in his stance must have alerted the Captain, because suddenly the larger man was there, wrapping his hands around the pervert's neck and began to shake quite hard.

It had taken several men to pull the enraged Captain off, including Tintin who had wrapped his arms around Haddock's upper torso and yelled at him to stop, it wasn't worth it, they could just leave…

And leave they had, evading the local law enforcement who wanted to stop and question them about the incident. Once at the harbor, they had raised sail and quickly taken off.

Neither said anything much about the incident, the older man inquiring if Tintin was all right and the younger man insisting that he was. Even chuckling a bit as this really wasn't the first time he'd been groped in a crowd.

Finding a place to lay anchor, they had retired to their bunks for the night.

_Tintin stood on the deck of the sailboat and spun around frantically, his distressed eyes wide. The seas, the seas were dark and colorless, flat and featureless. Threatening seas that bided their time, waiting for him to relax his guard and then they would rear up and pounce, sweep him over the side and suck him down deep._

_He could hear the water giggling at him._

_He began to scream._

Sitting up straight in his bunk as he felt arms grab hold of him, he began to struggle madly and shout desperately. 'No! Please, no, go away, no don't hurt me, please don't…"

"Easy lad, easy Tintin, it's ok, you're safe, laddie, easy, easy, easy." The voice was familiar, a beloved voice, a comforting voice. It was accompanied by just as familiar whines and soft yips and he could feel something small and furry burrowing into his side.

Stilling, he opened his eyes and beheld his dearest friend staring at him with anxiety. Even though Tintin could feel shivers still running through him, he began to calm down. He was on the sailboat, moored in a faraway harbor. Both Snowy and Captain Haddock were here with him.

He was safe.

Taking a shaky breath and trying to slow his trembling, he smiled up at the man that was holding him gently in his arms. "It's okay, I'm okay, just a bad dream."

"Hmmmfff. Let me guess." Haddock growled. "You haven't had one the entire time we've been sailing, till now. That troglodyte in the market…?"

Tintin shuddered, remembering the groping hand and leering face. He had thought he could get away from it all, leave the past behind him but apparently nowhere was safe. Except this little boat. One didn't have to be a psychiatrist to figure out the meaning of his dream.

Bringing his thoughts back to the present, he found he was cradled in Haddock's arms, once more being rocked gently, while Snowy was curled up in his lap. There had been times at the villa and especially at the hotel as he was made to relive the experiences during the trial that he had woken sobbing or screaming or both, only to find his devoted friend sitting by his side. The man usually said nothing; just wrapped the anguished youth up safe and secure, staying there until Tintin had fallen back asleep.

There had been other times, times when Tintin couldn't sleep when he'd sneak into the older man's room and curl up beside him on top of the bed. Invariably he'd find the covers being gently draped around him, along with strong arms holding him steadily.

But once they'd sailed away, he had slept soundly. Until now.

Tintin felt his eyes beginning to smart from gathering tears. It was never going to end. Was he doomed to spend the rest of his life this way? Hiding and crouching like some hurt animal, never to walk in the sunshine? Always looking over his shoulder, always peering about to spot the leering face, the gleaming eye.

He just wanted his life back. His chest hitched, then again.

"Let it out lad, let it out." The Captain urged gently.

Turning he buried his head into his dearest friend's shoulder and sobbed. At least he wasn't crying uncontrollably. But he was crying with sadness and a feeling of almost hopeless despair. But almost wasn't the same as absolute.

The only hope he had was right here with him. The Captain and Snowy. If it weren't for those two, he had no idea where he'd be...He didn't want to contemplate it.

Sitting up a bit, he wiped at his eyes and accepted the tissues the Captain held out.

"Sorry…" he muttered.

"Hush." The Captain commanded softly.

"I thought…once we were away…it would be over. But it's not really ever going to be over, is it?"

"It will take time, my boy. Everything takes time. And that's what we're doing out here, is taking time. When you're ready, we'll go back. And no, things won't be the same, they never are. But it will be better, you know that."

Tintin closed his eyes and smiled. There had been one good thing out of this whole experience. The Captain had not touched one drop before, during and after the trial, and there wasn't a bottle to be found on the boat. Tintin didn't know if the man was afraid of losing control and not being there when Tintin needed him, or if the man had decided that if Tintin was going to be the one who was emotionally unbalanced, then he would be in charge.

Either way, the captain's sobriety had made him a somewhat calm and rather insightful person. He could still fly into the occasional rage (as yesterday's events had so eloquently illustrated), but gone were the drunken stupors, the lost nights (and days), the wonder (for Tintin) if the man was able to function or not.

Tintin meant it when he had called the Captain his rock. He leaned on him physically and psychologically, mooring himself securely. He depended on the man to both anchor and steer him. He was adrift and needed the gentle nudges that corrected his sometimes wildly deviating path, bringing him back to normality.

He looked up intending to tell the man his thoughts and found himself gazing into blue eyes that looked at him with such love and devotion, care and concern that Tintin gasped.

"Oh! Captain! I…I love you!" And then pressed his lips to the older man's.

…


	10. Healing Touch

…Healing Touch

Tintin just as quickly pulled back, shocked at his action. "Ummm…Captain. I, er…I don't know why…" he ground to a halt, unable to give an explanation for what he had done.

Except it had felt like the right thing to do.

And judging from the look Haddock was giving him the man was just as surprised. But oddly not shocked. Or angry. Or aghast. Or any emotion Tintin thought the man would be.

Instead the Captain regarded him with a soft look of acceptance. "Well now, lad, what brought that on?" the older man inquired, his face smiling gently.

"Oh…Archie. I'm…not sure. I just know that I looked up at you and could see how much you care for me and…and just kissed you." Tintin explained, unable to put into words all the emotions that had driven him to take that action.

Haddock looked directly at him. "Ah my boy, I do care about you. I care about you very much. And if you want to kiss me, then go right ahead." He stated firmly.

"Archie!?"Tintin replied incredulously.

"Lad, I don't just care for you. I love you my boy. Think I always have. Never got the nerve up to say anything, you've never given any indication you felt nothing more toward me than a deep friendship and I wasn't about to ruin that." Frowning, the Captain continued. "And then this happened and I sure as hell wasn't going to let you know. Don't worry lad, you're safe and sound here."

Tintin sat there a bit stunned. He knew the Captain cared for him - that had always been obvious. But he hadn't noticed just how much. But it made sense, really.

"Oh Archie, I do know I'm safe and sound here, and it's because of you. You are my rock, you stand between me and all that might hurt me, protect me from harm. I do love you, Archie and now I know you love me, too. And if you'll help me, I want to show you how much."

Reaching up, he brought his lips once more to his Captain's mouth. It was heavenly.

For several moments they kissed gently. It was Haddock who pulled back first.

"Tintin. Are you sure about this? You were badly abused, my boy, I can still hear you screaming in terror whenever you had nightmares. Damn, boy, you just were screaming in terror and that was from some cretinous baboon in the marketplace." The older man looked intently into Tintin's eyes. "I don't want to hurt you, and I sure as hell don't want to cause you any more discomfort."

"You won't. I know you won't. Because it will be you." Tintin affirmed. "Yes, the man in the market did make the terrors come back, but I think…I think I need to face just more than being attacked."

The Captain looked at him, his brows lowered. "Face what, my boy?"

"Well, for one thing, that…that my life is going to be different now. I feared that more than anything I think. I didn't want to give up what I had, the life of adventure, travelling to new lands, discovering things, unearthing things. I loved that." Sighing, Tintin looked down. "I suppose I can still do that, but the world's become a much darker place, and safety and security are my main concerns now."

"Also, well…there's also the fact that…I find men attractive. Always have. And when those two men abused me, it…made my attraction to men particularly…painful. I…had…fantasized, you know…about coupling with a man…and, and…" Tintin ground to a stop. "But afterward…the thought of being touched, of having a man…enter me…" He shuddered.

"Ahhh, I understand my boy, I do. They hurt you badly. Made what should have been a pleasure into a nightmare."

"Yes, probably will have scars the rest of my life, physically and mentally." Tintin murmured.

Looking back up at his dearest friend, Tintin took comfort from the look of adoration and care that still shone from those bright, blue eyes, that timeworn face with its thick black beard. He could feel the man's strong arms holding him securely, the large hands gently stroking his back.

"Archie…the type of men I dreamed about, were…like you." Tintin glanced down and smiled a bit ruefully. "Hell, they were you. I just didn't…admit it."

Glancing back up, he gave a short laugh. "I guess I thought you thought of me as just a good friend, a youngster, maybe even…more of a son, than a….possible…lover."

"Hmmm, looks like we were both circling around each other, neither one of us aware of how we really felt." Haddock stated regretfully.

"Yes. But now…now we can express how we feel. And that's what I have to face. To get over the knowledge, the remembrance of how they touched me. To know I can be touched that way, those places without it being terrible." Tintin wrapped his arms around his friend's shoulders. "Please Archie…please. Help me to know that being loved by a man isn't painful, isn't a horror, that it can be wonderful, pleasurable?"

"Oh, Tintin, my little lad, of course. We'll take our time, take it slow. Anytime you feel the least bit uncomfortable, we'll stop. After all, that's why we're out here in the first place; to give you time to heal."

Gazing back with his own eyes glowing with love and adoration, Tintin pulled the older man into a stronger embrace. "And I know I will heal, because it will be you that's helping me. As you always do."

Once again they began to kiss, and when the Captain laid Tintin back onto the bunk, he sighed contentedly, knowing he was in the arms of someone who would take care of him, heal him with gentle words and gentler touch.

…


	11. A Cared For Young Man

… Tintin's Reality

Tintin looked over the deep blue sea and inhaled deeply of the salty aroma, hearing the cry of seagull underscored with the rumble of surf. He flexed his toes in the soft sand and sighed.

They had kept sailing until they had found a small island pretty much out in the middle of nowhere, anchoring the boat in the shallow harbor. They had made a small hut by propping up their rowboat and using available palm fronds for the roof. Days were spent lazily, combing the beach for crab or shellfish, swimming in the warm water, dozing the hours away.

Glancing to his left he smiled contentedly at the man who was sitting beside him. His Captain. His best friend. His lover.

They had taken their time, but then they had plenty of that. Tintin had no trouble kissing and being kissed. And when hands gently and tenderly explored certain areas, they would stop if he were to tense up, wait patiently until he was secure enough to continue or go on to somewhere else, if need be.

And all he had to do was look into eyes that loved and adored him, eyes that would never hurt him.

Slowly but surely he became more comfortable with being touched, and also found he had no trouble touching his friend, and took great joy in fondling and caressing the older man into ecstasy.

Tonight, Tintin just knew it, would be the night he would accept his friend into him. He had decided the best way was for Haddock to take him would be from the front, hold him like the lover he was, look into his friend's face and feel those loving arms around him and finally, finally become one with the man, just like he had always dreamed.

And then they would continue to sail around the world, discover not just more new locales, new cultures, new sites, but also learn more about each other than they'd ever thought they would. Become one in body, heart and soul.

And if they never went back? If Tintin never reported another story or chased down mystifying clues? That was fine. This was his new life now, and he was quite satisfied about it.

Tintin grabbed the hand of his lover and together they ran into the ocean, laughing happily, Snowy barking joyously at their side. He may no longer be a carefree young man, but he was a cared for young man - and that was more important. And all because he had finally found his true calling - the man that would always be at his side, no matter what.

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

Took me a long time to publish this one. Kept thinking that it was too rough and too painful. Didn't help that I had about 3 endings to it. The first two interludes were actually endings I had started to explore and then decided they were just a bit too dark for my taste. Tintin and Haddock on the rampage is rather beyond my sensibilities – though I could have dragged myself there if need be. I don't need prancing unicorns 24/7, but I also don't need to be in the dungeon of dark despair either.

So I did what I felt must be done, had Tintin take the only route he really would take, and made sure that not only was Haddock by his side, but be his salvation as well. Throughout the story I had Tintin going it alone and then bearing the consequences(Tintin fantasy #1), then together with Haddock, and exploring how that affected their friendship (Fantasy #2) and then finally finding the true course to take - and really – could there actually have been any other conclusion? Course not!

And as always - Thank you for your reviews, your fav's and your following.


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